by Claudia Dain
It was everything she could do not to press herself against the long, straight line of his back.
It was as she was considering it that she heard voices. George’s voice.
Of all the instances when a girl did not want to see her brother, now was a prime example.
Her hands went to her hair, which was a sodden mess, and then to her dress, which was twisted and damp and wrinkled far beyond anything seemly or even accidental, and then her eyes went to the door as it opened and both her brother George and Sophia’s George stepped out onto the flags.
“Here you are,” her brother said. “What are you doing out in the rain, Pen?”
George Grey looked at her, his face more than half hidden in shadow. His face was expressionless and a more frightening aspect she had never before seen. He looked, dare she say it, like a complete savage. How could George be so easy in his company?
“A wager, I’m afraid,” Iveston said calmly, looking not the least discomfited by being interrupted by her brother when he had just been seducing her not a half minute before. If that wasn’t just like the son of a duke. Quite above it all, wasn’t he? Untouchable. Unflappable.
Unappealing toad.
“What sort of wager?” George asked, and quite rightly, too. He didn’t look at all willing to overlook the situation, which was utterly astute of him. She didn’t want to see them duel, naturally, but a good thrashing never killed anyone, did it?
“A quite simple one, actually,” Iveston said, looking completely normal and at ease, which was the most annoying thing about him at the moment. Given a half an hour, she was quite confident she’d have a firm list of at least twelve annoying items arranged in alphabetical order. “Though, I must admit, seeing us now, a quite foolish one as well.”
George was looking them over very carefully, as was the other George. What must they look like?
Ruined?
No, no, no. She was not going to allow herself to be ruined by Iveston. It was Edenham who was going to ruin her. She’d got it all worked out! Nearly.
“Quite certainly foolish,” George said, looking quite nearly grim.
“Quite,” Iveston echoed, straightening his cuff. The mist was gone now as well, though the sky was still heavy with cloud, not a star in sight, nor the moon either. As he didn’t respond more fully to George, she had the time to take in the general weather conditions, but as she did so, she did begin to suspect that Iveston was stalling for time.
He was trying to think of some reasonable excuse!
Impossible, as there could be no reasonable excuse for dragging her outside to kiss her in the rain. To kiss her repeatedly and heatedly in the rain. She might as well be precise about it. Though being precise, the words and the images that flooded her upon saying them even in her own thoughts, brought forth such a rush of heat and longing and … no, some things were better off left in vague and hazy terms. Particularly when facing one’s brother with a savage Indian at his back.
Things were looking rather hopeless for Iveston. It was rather funny, as long as she didn’t end up married to him.
As she very definitely did not want to lose Edenham, she decided to help him. Iveston could be thrashed for some other thing. She could wait for that, a short amount of time anyway.
“It’s quite simple, George,” she said. “I can’t even begin to remember how it started, though I’m nearly certain it was a scientific inquiry, but Lord Iveston and I got into a mild debate about … my hair.”
George Grey’s black eyebrows raised fractionally and he crossed his arms over his chest. Her George lowered his black eyebrows and took a step nearer to her. Clearly, more explanation was required. As Iveston was looking at her in some interest and curiosity, she was going to have to invent an explanation.
Oh, dear.
“I assure you, nothing happened beyond us both getting a bit damp and uncomfortable,” she said.
To judge by the looks in the eyes of the men, that had not come out quite right.
“I think we should go back inside,” Iveston said, which was most reasonable of him as it was not at all comfortable out of doors now that her clothing was damp and her hair a ruin.
“I think explanations are due first,” George said, which did not strike her as particularly chivalrous so much as particularly inconvenient.
“I do think it is entirely possible to have explanations while comfortably out of the mist!” she said, a bit loudly, it must be admitted.
“Yet you did not think so with Lord Iveston,” George responded, “or was it his idea, Pen? Did he force you out here?”
Iveston bristled; she could see that clearly even in the dark. If George made one more inconvenient comment, she might well see herself married to Iveston! It was not to be borne, not after so much effort on her part to snag Edenham. George’s foolish display of what she did not know was not going to ruin her marriage prospects.
“George, that’s completely ridiculous,” she snapped. “I told you that we were engaging in a minor and utterly innocent conversation about my hair. Lord Iveston remarked that he thought that my hair, which put him in mind of a cousin of his or some such, would not curl when damp. I wagered that he was wrong and we set out to prove the point. Nothing more complicated than that.”
“Why would you wager upon that?” George said suspiciously.
“Why do you wager on anything?” she snapped. “It was a chance to make two pounds. I never turn aside from making a simple profit.”
“But why would he wager on it? ”
She had no idea.
She didn’t know what to say to that and looked at Iveston, who was watching her with a gleam in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. She shivered. George took note of it and frowned. George Grey, the Indian, smiled.
“Because, Mr. Prestwick,” Iveston said, “I never turn aside from an opportunity to engage Miss Prestwick. She is endlessly fascinating, as I suspect you must know.”
What a lovely thing to say. She almost believed he meant it.
George was silent for longer than he should have been. A simple grunt of satisfaction would have been sufficient. They should all now return to the soiree and make as little of this as possible, not as much as possible. Couldn’t he see that?
Men, especially brothers, were so stupid about matters of decorum and social necessity.
“Your hair curls when wet,” George Grey said softly, staring at her. She didn’t like it in the least.
“Yes, I know, which is why I’ve won two pounds,” she said. “I expect you to pay me promptly, Lord Iveston. I’m quite determined to not be given short shrift just because I’m a woman.”
“I shall drop round tomorrow, shall I, and pay you your due,” Iveston said, staring at her very much like the Indian was doing. She didn’t mind it half as much.
“That explains, somewhat, what you are doing out, alone, in Lady Lanreath’s back garden,” George said. He was like a dog with a rat about the entire event, which was perfectly horrid of him. Couldn’t he see he was making it all worse and worse with every word he uttered? “But it does not explain the condition of your dress, Pen. You look a proper disaster.”
She looked down. Her dress was in a muddle. As it was of tissue-thin silk, it did show every mark of being handled. And it looked most decidedly handled. She was particularly rumpled around her waist, where Iveston had not resisted in the least the impulse to grab her to him. A wet fluttering made itself felt behind her knees and elbows at the thought. With determination, and her brother’s stare upon her, she ignored it as best she could. She thought she did a good job of it, actually.
“Miss Prestwick had a bit of a shock and is still clearly suffering the aftereffects of it,” Iveston said.
Well, perhaps she could have done a better job at her fluttering. She wasn’t used to dealing with flutters, that was all.
“A shock? Of what type?” George asked.
If she were going to be questioned like a common criminal, she
did think someone might offer her a chair, and out of the rain, at that.
“I saw a rat, if you must know,” she said crisply, looking at George, her inspiration for the idea. “You know how I am about rats, George. Well, I saw one running straight at my ankles and without any forethought or hesitation, I must admit, I threw myself into Lord Iveston’s arms. I even believe I screamed.”
“She most definitely screamed,” Iveston said. “Clamped her knees around one of my thighs, wrapped her arms around my neck, and screamed. And screamed. I’m surprised you did not hear her.”
“I didn’t scream that much or that loudly, Lord Iveston,” she said in some annoyance.
There was no need to make her look a complete fool. George was her brother, after all, and would make good use of this story for many years to come. Iveston, who had brothers of his own, was clearly tormenting her, but for what cause? All she’d done was kiss him with as much passion as she had in her to win a wager. Was that anything to be annoyed about?
“My left ear is still ringing,” Iveston said with a pleasant smile upon his face.
Who had ever determined that Lord Iveston was an innocent, awkward man? He was deviousness itself.
“Naturally, I’m not complaining,” Iveston continued, looking at George. “I understand irrational fears. I do have four younger brothers, after all.”
“It’s not irrational,” she said hotly. “Rats bite. And this rat was the size of a cat.”
“Perhaps it was a cat?” George said. “It is rather dark out here.”
“It was a rat,” she gritted out.
Why couldn’t George leave well enough alone? Did he want to see her ruined by Lord Iveston when it was Edenham who was the one who was supposed to ruin her? Not that he knew that of course. She loved George, usually, but she wasn’t such a fool as to tell him she was planning to arrange for Edenham to ruin her. George was a man, after all, and they tended to bristle at that sort of arrangement.
Men were such romantics.
“Of course,” Iveston said in a perfectly patronizing tone. “Still, I did feel that, as she was clinging to me, I should endeavor to hold her up and so I, with great care, held her about the waist. The wrinkles will attest to it, I trust. But all perfectly innocent, Mr. Prestwick, though not very wise, I willingly admit.”
George Grey had said not a word for many minutes. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders leaning against the brick wall of the house, and was obviously amused. Oh, he was silent, but he was laughing. She could feel it.
“I can’t think why you are here, Mr. Grey,” she said. The rain had stopped completely, but she was most tired of having to stand about, damp, required to explain every little thing. It was bad enough to do it for George, but did this Indian have to be involved?
“I have a sister, Miss Prestwick,” he said, as if that answered anything at all.
“You do?” Iveston said, his attention off of her for the first time that evening. She did have to admit that she didn’t enjoy the change in the slightest. Was Iveston now going to seek out Mr. Grey’s sister to kiss? “Is she in Town?”
Apparently, he was. What a flighty man. She couldn’t think how she’d ever thought him amusing. Of course, she hadn’t thought a thing of him yesterday, but since meeting him today, he was more … something or other than she had expected him to be. Very much more.
“She is not even in the country, Lord Iveston,” Mr. Grey said.
“A child, then?” Iveston asked.
Well, really. He was suddenly more interested in this mysterious Indian woman than he was in her. How very like a man. They were so changeable as a rule. It was quite annoying of them.
“My twin,” Mr. Grey said, which she did have to admit, was the slightest bit interesting.
“Really?” George said. Bother it all. Now he was fascinated by this nameless Indian princess, for she had heard some small rumor, which had captured her attention completely, that Sophia’s father, an Iroquois, was something quite like royalty within that nation, which explained quite a lot about Sophia, now that she thought about it. “Do you share a strong resemblance?”
“No,” Mr. Grey answered.
It must have been a relief to his sister as Mr. George Grey, while attractive in a primitive sort of way, was positively savage-looking with quite a dangerous cast to his features. Not at all the sort of looks that a woman would want to possess, although perhaps Iroquois women were different in that.
She considered it thoroughly for a few seconds and made her decision. No, it was highly unlikely that any woman, no matter her race or nation, would want to look either savage or dangerous.
“How nice for her,” she said crisply.
Iveston chuckled, and then he coughed into his hand. Most peculiar, even for him.
“Pen,” George said, shaking his head at her. Oh, bother, what had she said now?
“I’m cold and damp, George. Do you suppose we could go in now? My hair curls in the wet. I have won two pounds off the ever-obliging Lord Iveston, and now I should like to enjoy this soiree beyond the padding of my purse.”
Let it be noted that she was not asking anyone’s permission. The question, and it had been a stupid question to begin with as George should know that she was well able to protect her good name better than anyone else as she had the most to lose by losing it, had been answered satisfactorily. She was done with kissing Lord Iveston, done with pretending she had not been kissing Lord Iveston, and done with answering questions about her activities. Let George find her when she was being seduced by the Duke of Edenham, that would be something worth his time and trouble. In fact, she was counting on him doing just that.
“Well spoken,” Iveston said. “Now, Mr. Grey, tell me about your sister. Why didn’t she come to England with you? What is her name? Is she affianced?”
Penelope was walking from the damp darkness into the light of Lanreath House when she pulled up short at Iveston’s words and turned to face Iveston, who did not even have the grace to look abashed. “I suppose you’ll be asking next if her hair curls in the rain?”
Iveston, blue eyes shining like a summer day, replied, “Not until I meet her, no, Miss Prestwick, though it is not a question I have ever asked before now.”
“And if you ever meet my sister, which I don’t think you ever will,” George Grey said, “I don’t think you’ll ask it of her.”
Mr. George Grey did not look at all offended. In fact, he looked amused.
“Why ever not?” Iveston asked.
“Because Elizabeth’s hair curls wet or dry,” Mr. Grey answered.
“I should like to meet her, I think,” George said. Her own brother! If this wasn’t turning into the worst evening of her Season, but then again, the Season had just begun.
Penelope swallowed a curt retort, which she was certain would be turned back upon her somehow, and walked with all her dignity intact into the noise and light of Lanreath House. No more dark gardens for her. Unless Edenham had a fascination for dark gardens, then all would be reassessed to suit his urges.
And she did so hope he had urges.
IVESTON resisted every urge he had, and they were considerable, to pull Penelope into his arms and kiss her into limp-kneed submission. Although, even limp-kneed, she was hardly submissive. No, the girl had the most unique talent for standing and delivering, even when flushed with desire and roiling passion.
At least, he assumed it was roiling passion. That she was so silent about her feelings and so loud about her intentions did make her something of a puzzle. A delightful puzzle.
He’d never known a woman like her.
He wanted to know her better, in every sense of the word.
What sort of woman arranged to be kissed by a groom? For he did now believe her. Penelope was too forthright and too lacking in the normal levels of tact to lie about it. She clearly saw nothing wrong with arranging for her own needs to be met.
There was something scandalous about that, and h
e liked it.
There was also something very frustrating about her flat refusal to pursue him. She was interested in him. He knew she was, but she was too fixated on Edenham to notice it. Well then, the obvious course was to force her attention onto him.
He didn’t anticipate much trouble there. Look how jealous she was even now at the mere mention of Elizabeth Grey. He would have her exactly where he wanted her, Penelope, not Elizabeth, in a matter of hours. He wasn’t at all certain how he was going to accomplish this, but he knew one thing absolutely: he was going to enjoy himself immensely.
Eighteen
“DARLING, I thought you’d never arrive,” Sophia said to the Duke of Edenham. “Lady Richard, you are looking quite as beautiful as ever. I do think London agrees with you completely. You must get up to Town more often.”
The Duke of Edenham and Lady Richard were perhaps the two most beautiful people England had ever produced. Their features were elegantly cut, their eyes expressive, their forms exquisitely shaped. They were each intensely lovely and intensely miserable, marriage having not met their expectations in the slightest.
Darling Edenham had been scarred by death, each of his three wives very nearly literally dying beneath him, and Katherine had been scarred by betrayal. She had married for love, and disreputable, though charming, Lord Richard had strayed. More than once and never with discretion. That he had strayed into Lady Paignton’s bed made this evening a very important one for Lady Richard. It was time to put old ghosts to rest, not at all literally speaking as Sophia had no real desire to see Lady Paignton murdered, and certainly not by the delightful Lady Richard.
That would be a very poor end to what should have been a very remarkable life.
“I think it is the children who agree with me, Lady Dalby,” Katherine, Lady Richard, answered, giving Sophia a breathy kiss on the cheek in greeting.
“I can quite understand that,” Sophia said, studying Katherine. “You might have children populating your nursery one day. If you married again.”